The Right Thing SGA
by flah7
Summary: The team gets caught in a tight spot off world.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** The Right Thing (SGA)

**Author:** Heatherf

**Disclaimers:** Not mine, no money made

**Warnings:** Not really.

Poem challenge set by Tipper.

Read an SGA story by Sablecain, it was creepy and well done. It was a poem challenge. Read another story by Tipper centered on water it too was excellent and based on a poem.

Wrote this story based on a poem that was written by an unpublished amateur. It was centered around water and about doing the right thing even if it hurts. It was on my old, old computer hard drive that went up in smoke, ash, and a deluge of water. The author has not re-sent the poem yet, when she does, I'll post it to the story.

**Spoilers:** None

**Thanks:** Meg T. NT, Mitzi (her poem)

**Characters:** Beckett, Sheppard, McKay (the others as well).

**Summary:** The group is in a tight spot off world.

The mistakes are mine. I'm exceptionally good with those and am very protective of them.

**Dec. 31st 2006**

* * *

**Part 1/3** (1 of 3 because I like that combination of numbers. Some of you know why.) 

"Is he bleeding from the medial or lateral aspect of his thigh, Colonel?" Beckett's question rang through headsets around the subterranean ruins.

The crashing ocean waves thrummed far below seemed to dim in the background. Moisture hung from cragged water cut surfaces and stagnant pools dotted the uneven floors. The smell of salt water hung heavy in the air.

People paused. Their frantic activity ceased. Heavy moisture laden dust continued to settle over everything, greying people and stones alike. Blue shirts and black waited with bated breath, listening for the answer.

Puddlejumpers still shuttled supplies through the gate, hoping to rescue their trapped people before fatalities began to mount. The ships hovered a hundred yards above the dark foreign ocean surface. Their ramps were lowered so crews could disembark to enter the network of caves that honey combed the cliff dwellings.

The Ancients had set up an outpost in the cliffs. Apparently they were studying the movement of the planets large plates. They were remarkably unsteady. Something none of the Atlantians had realized until too late.

It was a race against time. The clock ticked mercilessly. The tectonic plates were unstable. The vast ocean floor was on the verge of upheaval. Tsunamis ringed the planet. Atmospheric storms raged overhead.

The ground tremors had ceased, walls had finished collapsing for now and people were isolated.

The teams in the central cavern ceased all movement as expedition members strained to hear the answer from their secluded and cut off people. Some didn't understand the importance of the question while a select few bit their lips and shared worried glances.

Important things tended to run medially. Important being major vessels and nerves.

Sheppard and McKay had fallen through a collapsing floor and tumbled down sloping paths that had not seen human life in over a millennium.

They were now stuck even further underground, just above sea level, injured and inaccessible.

Beckett, who had lagged behind the duo to fiddle with a strap on his pack, had been swallowed by a disintegrating floor and cascading dirt and rock.

He was trapped alone, in a cavern somewhere deep under the black cliff face. His exact location remained a mystery.

Their radios still worked. Someone had mumbled a thank you to St. Jude for small favors and for watching over lost causes.

"Medial," The colonel answered succinctly. "Close to the knee." The detached cool efficiency of the Colonel, hallmarked the dire circumstances in which he and McKay found themselves.

Sheppard worked alone under the illumination of his P-90 light. The heavy flow of McKay's dark blood gloved the Colonel's chilled hands.

"Get a tourniquet around it," Beckett sharply ordered. The steady drum of crashing waves vibrated the walls that surrounded him. He nervously turned in a circle trying to survey the black walls that were sure to loom over him. He couldn't see a thing. The blackness was absolute, almost tangible and suffocating in its completeness. The hole in which he had tumbled through was blocked and covered by heavy debris and thickened mud. He was lucky to be alive.

_Going through the gate just wasn't good for him. _

He ignored his predicament for the moment and turned his attention back to his radio and the others.

"Colonel, your belt should work just fine. Situate it just above the wound and cinch it tight. Use the barrel of a P-90 if you have to…just make sure it is unloaded."

The blood loss had been described as thick but sluggish, like milk from a spilled carton, not a spouting fire hose gone awry.

McKay stood a chance. If they could get the blood loss under control, if they could stave off shock, if they could just keep him quiet and get him help sooner rather than later.

There were a lot of 'ifs' involved. Carson didn't like 'if' very much. It ranked right up there with 'Oops.'

After a few short tense moments Sheppard's voice sounded across assorted headphones. "Okay, now what?"

"Do you have anything to elevate his feet with?"

"Um…"

They all could hear the Colonel's soft breaths as he dragged backpacks and into position. They could picture him lifting McKay's feet and elevating them slightly above his flattened shoulders.

"Okay, what else?" the colonel asked again.

The group of rescuers in the main cavern listened intently while they worked. Zelenka directed the teams with cool, seamless efficiency.

"Keep his shoulders flat to the ground, keep him warm," Beckett immediately answered.

"Got that done, Doc." Sheppard's impatience leached through into his voice, "What else?"

They all heard Beckett sigh, perhaps even swallow. In the face of a crisis, with a patient under his care, the CMO's cool demeanor was legendary. Without the responsibility of a patient, his skitterish nature tended to dominate. This stormy afternoon those new to the SGA off world teams were getting an auditory glimpse of the steadfast physician.

"There is nothing else to be done, Colonel," Beckett answered calmly. "Keep him warm and dry, keep his feet elevated. Every 30 minutes or so loosen the tourniquet. Check his foot for a pulse." Carson rattled off a list of directions as if reading a grocery list.

Thirty minutes was a long time. "Keep track of his pulse and breathing." There was a pause, "When he comes to again, keep him calm and keep him talking."

Beckett stopped talking and listened to the sounds around him. The ground under his feet shook at regular intervals as wave after unseen wave beat against the cliffs. The sound of spilling water suddenly distinguished itself. Carson reached out a dust and mud covered hand and blindly felt for a wall. It was cold and wet. Worse, a thick curtain of salty water cascaded down its face.

Ocean water seeped in through the fissures above his head and flowed down the walls slowly filling the chamber.

_Oh crap._

"I don't plan on being here for another thirty minutes," Sheppard spat.

"We're working on it, Colonel," Radek's voice cut into the conversation. The Czech and his team of scientists just finished interfacing their laptops to the ancient technology consoles that occupied the biggest subterranean tavern.

The science teams increased their speed. People worked quickly and efficiently at their assigned jobs and areas of expertise.

Ronon paced like a caged lion in the deep shadows of the background. Teyla assisted scientists where she could. Her cold as well as Ronon's had kept them from accompanying the original SGA teams to this planet. However, with the ground tremors and report of collapsing ceilings and trapped people, she and Ronon could not be kept grounded.

"Radek, how close are you to getting me out of here?" Beckett asked. He nervously listened to water pour through the crevices near the ceiling that seemed ominously closer than it had before. His little cave vibrated with each crash of an ocean wave.

The Scot lifted a soaked foot from the rising ocean water. It seeped over the top of his boots chilling his feet as body heat was leeched through his soaked socks. He fumbled blindly with untying his boots. The water ached his fingers.

"We are working as quickly as we can, Dr. Beckett," Zelenka answered. He sounded distracted by the apparently superfluous question. "We have located Colonel Sheppard and Rodney. We suspect you will be in the same area."

"How long until you get them free?" Beckett inquired again. Frigid ocean water lapped at his lower shins. Moisture wicked up his pant legs. The cold water cramped his calf muscles.

"Soon," Zelenka answered. "Please, let us work."

Beckett nodded and folded his hands up tight under his arms.

The water was cold.

* * *

"His pulse is getting thready." Sheppard's tone, though level, hinted at trepidation. "His breathing's getting shallower and faster."

"It's expected," Beckett returned. _Crap. Rodney was running out of time._ "Have you loosened the tourniquet?" Beckett's teeth chattered and his voice quivered. His intercostal muscles ached as he remained hunched over his folded arms.

"Yeah. It's still bleeding but not like before," the colonel answered.

"That's good," Beckett stuttered. "What about his toes?"

"They're pink, and there is still a pulse in his foot. Not as strong, but it's there," Sheppard informed.

Carson swayed left and right, curled over his midsection, shivering. He bit back a groan. The water sloshed to waist high. The moisture wicked, crawling up his shirt and coat, preceding the rising waters. His saturated clothing clung to his clammy midsection, chilling him further. He had cold water in places that should never, ever experience such things.

"Good," Beckett answered. "That's good." Carson turned in a circle, trying to keep moving, keep warm. He couldn't remember if in water you kept still to maintain body heat or did it facilitate its lost. Remembering details were becoming increasingly more difficult to recall. "Radek how much longer until you reach them?" Rodney was getting critical.

Initially, Carson had been afraid of losing Rodney, but that fear lessened with the cessation of the heavy hemorrhage. His concern had been re-directed at possibly saving McKay's leg. Now, the fear of losing Rodney manifested again, and saving the leg was not something on the forefront of his mind.

They were racing the clock. There wasn't any more time to waste.

"Colonel, we are only a few more moments away from you," Radek informed. The sound of heavy equipment, combustion engines and moving bodies filled the background.

"Have a medical team standing by," Beckett ordered. "Make sure Morrison knows to expect a severe vascular injury…."

"It has been taken care of, Dr. Beckett," Teyla answered, hoping to ease the physician's concern. She paused and then asked, "Are you alright, Carson?"

Carson merely nodded to himself. Water rolled against his lowest ribs. His abdominal muscles tightened even further. _Oh God this hurt._

"Dr. Beckett?" Teyla turned a concerned eye to Radek who oversaw the extraction of the trapped teams. Zelenka cocked his head to the side, furrowing his brow. Ronon pushed himself off a set of crates and stepped forward.

"Dr. Beckett?" Zelenka echoed. "Are you there?"

There was a pause and then the chattering response, "Just cold, very cold." There was another pause. "Any way you could get someone to work on getting me free?"

"I would have to pull people from working on Colonel Sheppard and Dr. McKay," Radek answered. "Does Rodney have that kind of time?"

Carson tightened his arms to his body as water lapped at his bent elbows.

"Doc?" Sheppard's voice sounded suspicious and concerned.

Ocean water rolled against Beckett's chest, stealing his breath for a moment. "No. No, he doesn't." His heart hammered in panic. The sound of crashing waves didn't feel as pervasive. The vibrations, however, seemed to rattle his internal organs.

"We will get you out as soon as we free Rodney and Colonel Sheppard," Radek reassured.

"Carson? Carson, what's going on?" Sheppard interrupted. _Something was more wrong than just a planet falling apart around them and Rodney trying to bleed out. _

"Just hurry. Rodney doesn't have much time left." Carson tried standing on his tiptoes and shifting his weight, but his legs seized and cramped. He slipped and fell, submerging himself. The shock of ice cold water closing over his head electrified him. He thrashed blindly as razor sharp freezing water crushed his breath from him. Carson broke the surface, wide eyed and heaving in great draughts of stale air.

His communication piece quietly sunk unseen to the cave floor.

"We are moving as fast as we can. We will get to you shortly, Carson." Teyla's assurance went unheard.

* * *

"Okay, okay, easy, easy, watch his leg," Colonel Sheppard directed as a crowd of people reached down and loaded McKay onto a canvas collapsible stretcher. "You're going to be okay, McKay, just hang on." The scientist's eyes opened only briefly before fluttering closed. Dark eyelashes contrasted sharply with the greyish pallor of his skin. His lips were discolored and a blue hue ringed his mouth. 

"We got him, colonel," Major Lorne assured as he and two of his team members eased McKay off the floor of the cave and headed for the freshly carved entrance that eventually led to the main cavern that housed Zelenka and his scientific teams.

Morrison and his group waited in a hovering Jumper just at the mouth of the caves dozens of feet above them. A surgery suite sat prepped and ready on Atlantis.

The Colonel followed the stretcher stiffly. The wet and cold had cramped his muscles and ached his bones. He moved with the unsteadiness of the greatly aged, feeling brittle and fragile. Everything hurt.

He followed the others up a steep incline of crumbling wet rock and pebbles. Eventually the narrow dark path broke into a wide spacious room that was filled wall to wall with bank lighting, equipment and people. Heaters hummed in the corners as fans filtered in fresh air from above.

McKay's stretcher was whisked across the room, through a second tunnel that climbed upward and out to an entrance and into a waiting jumper.

Sheppard didn't follow. He stopped at Zelenka's makeshift console.

"Good work, Doc." He patted the Czech on the shoulder with stiffened and cold fingers and smiled reassuringly. "Where's Carson?"

"We've lost contact with him," Radek spoke softly his eyes never leaving his laptop screen as he typed furiously.

"What?" Sheppard's relief at rescue suddenly evaporated.

"Please, let me work."

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

(Death is gross---don't write death fics) Oh and this is wicked short part.

**Part 2**

Beckett kicked his legs and circled his arms. His limbs felt leaden. The cold didn't hurt so much. In fact, he didn't feel terribly cold anymore. That should have worried him, but at the moment he had bigger troubles.

He arched his neck back, submerging the back of his head into the black water in an attempt to keep his nose and mouth above the surging water's surface.

His breaths came in short quick pants. The ceiling of the cave scratched his nose. Even this close to the rocks his vision couldn't penetrate the dense darkness.

He didn't want to drown. _God, he didn't want to drown._

His breaths became choppier as his forehead rubbed against the cold craggy stone. Panic spiked. He could hear his own raspy breath, but even his hearing was becoming intermittent as rising water filled and flooded his ear canals.

Cold water lapped at the corners of his mouth. He could taste the brine. He pursed his lips and blew out trying to keep the salty water from entering his mouth. It sprayed back into his face.

His breathing quickened. Panting.

His eyes reflexively blinked closed as water seeped over his lateral canthi. In just a few short moments, he was forced to squeeze his eyes closed as a thin layer of water slid over the bridge of his nose and across his eyelids. It seeped under his lashes.

The salt and brittle coldness stung his eyes.

His breaths became desperate. He could no longer hear the sounds of the water he tried to spit free from his mouth.

He pursed his lips tighter, arched his head further back, trying to keep his nostrils and mouth clear.

The water was invasive. It slowly and relentlessly rose over his face.

Breaths became shorter and sharper, more desperate. His chest heaved. He spit repeatedly, trying to clear the water.

Dr. Carson Beckett had feared drowning all his life. He had grown up near and on the ocean, had known a few persons who had drowned and had unfortunately experienced the sensation himself once. His survival was directly related to the quick action of three of his brothers. Right now, he feared drowning more than he feared the Wraith.

With cold ocean water all around him, he realized he was drowning. Going to drown. There was going to be no last minute rescue.

Water covered his face momentarily. He broke free, smashing his face into the rock ceiling and spitting yet again with little success.

He wheezed, choking back a strangled cry. _No...no...no…_

_Oh God he was actually drowning_.

Water closed over his face, icy liquid stung his features. He scrambled hysterically to break the surface.

The cavern roof gave no leeway. There was no more room. No where else for the water to go.

_Oh God, drowning, he was drowning._

"Mum," he whispered, spitting water and fighting for an elusive breath.

The frenzied breath sucked in a spray of salt water. It hit his trachea cold and intrusive. Water flashed against cilia and invoked a harsh reflexive cough.

It expelled air and water. He sunk slightly as he gasped for a second breath.

He inhaled only water.

It sluiced down his trachea and spread itself into his alveoli, briefly flooding them.

His movements became panicked. He thrashed his arms and kicked wildly with his legs, trying desperately to break the surface, smashing his head into the rock ceiling that meshed seamlessly with ocean water.

He struggled and clawed for purchase with feet and fingertips.

Water rose over his pursed lips and rushed up his nose as he continued to instinctively inhale. A cough exploded outward. More air escaped.

Bubbles traveled upward and burst having never breached the surface.

With little oxygen in his chest, his body became less buoyant. He sank a little deeper, settling away from the ceiling.

His arms circled a little slower, his legs kicked less frantically and his eyes drifted partially closed. He floated away from the ceiling.

In just moments, all his motion ceased.

The water no longer bit at him with its cold fingers. The salt no longer stung his eyes and fear no longer hammered his heart.

He drifted, buffeted by a small current. His eyes remained slightly open, fine strands of hair wavered up from his scalp. His arms floated slightly above his head, his pale hands relaxed with fingers gently curled, his legs remained slightly bent, white socks almost glowed in the dark.

Dark ocean water rolled against all surfaces of the cavern.

Beckett rocked gently in the current.

He didn't react to the sudden influx of bright lights.


	3. Chapter 3

Here's the last part. thanks for reading and sticking with it.

**Part 3**

The thump of a ventilator was soothing. Something beeped rhythmically in the distance. The nearby hum of voices was comforting. Words floated over and around him.

The word _Hero _made him think of Badger.

_As a young child barely into school they had asked him who his hero was. He was shy about revealing the truth and picked one of his older brother's heroes. Carson's real hero had been the family dog. It was thirty five pounds of bad attitude, questionable dietary choices and nothing but pure unadulterated trouble. However, at less than forty pounds it stood up to anything that threatened his family. Anything. Size meant nothing to that dog when it came to sticking with Carson. Badger was a hero, bigger than life and very real. Ronon was a lot like Badger, just a bit bigger, maybe a little less hair, however, Carson wouldn't dare mention it to anyone. _

His muscles ached. His chest burned and his head drummed with a relentless rhythmic beat. The whisper of warm air against the base of his nostrils itched and dried skin. He felt hot and cold and exceptionally uncomfortable all over. He wanted his blankets gone, but a deep chill kept him shivering. A warm hand encircled his cold one. Someone spoke to him, close to his ear. Their words were soft and encouraging. Someone was admired.

Admiration was a tough concept. _He had to write a paper once on who he admired. He could choose anyone in history or present day. It was an easy assignment and didn't require lengthy research on his part or borrowing from one of his brothers. He admired his father. His father was bigger than life, strong, intelligent and fearless. The man never complained; he worked long hours, toiling to give his kids a better life than he had had growing up. He loved his children and wife and was dedicated to his family. However, Carson had learned early on that fathers were mere mortals and not indestructible. He added his mother to his short list of people to admire, for obvious reasons. _

He was hot and cold. His back ached miserably as did his legs and shoulders. If he coughed it brought spiking pain to his ears, and a horrible relentless burning to his throat. The coughing seared his chest and sparked unbearably sharp pain through his torso. He wanted to crawl away, get away from the discomfort that ached his joints, and seemingly bruised his muscles. He lacked strength and coordination. Slightly humidified and focused air still breezed up his nose, painfully drying his skin. He tried repeatedly to free himself of the discomfort but met gentle resistance time and time again. Different voices spoke to him, close to his head, some offered comfort through touch, others through words. The hands that brushed his cheek and temple were refreshingly cool and he turned his face into them, hoping to garner a reprieve from the heat that enshrouded him.

He couldn't shake the chill. He wanted to stop shivering. It hurt; it made everything hurt, especially his chest.

A strange voice spoke of emulation. Wanting the strength to do what had been witnessed. Carson didn't understand. He didn't comprehend the words or the different conversations that whispered and floated over him.

Emulate _When applying for a doctorate it had been asked whom he wanted to emulate. That was more difficult. He didn't want to emulate his father. His father had worked hard, toiled endlessly but his life had been difficult. Carson had thought of great scientists but again paused in mentioning them…it seemed too textbook, too rote, too predictable. It was one day while visiting home, watching his brothers' kids run amok, destruction followed in their wake, that he realized whom he wanted to emulate. It was one of his older brothers, the one with all the patience. The one who was a tad bit quieter than the others but no less imposing. His brother didn't have everything, but he had the things that really mattered. He was the quiet one, kind more often than not, understanding when times called for it, strong as bull, common sense smart and selfless. His older brother and Colonel Sheppard had a lot in common. They weren't perfect, but they were fair. Carson had wanted to be like that._ _He'd never tell them though._

The conflicting hot and cold seeped away. The pain in his ears and throat dissipated. His joints and muscles didn't ache nearly as badly. The headache had disappeared. However, exhaustion smothered him with the weight of thick mud.

He opened his eyes to find Colonel Sheppard staring down at him. The colonel looked tired. Heavy dark rings encircled his eyes. His face looked drawn. It could have been the dim lighting of the infirmary at night, but Carson didn't think so.

"You with me?" He felt Sheppard squeeze his forearm. Beckett furrowed his brow. He blinked and slowly refocused on the Colonel's stern countenance. "Carson, you with me this time?" The colonel squeezed his forearm again, with more force.

It bordered on painful.

"Aye." Carson was unnerved by the raw hoarseness of his own whispered voice. _What did Sheppard mean by this time? _He had no recollection of a previous time.

"You've been pretty out of it." The Colonel scrutinized him closely. "I think this needs repeating." Sheppard cocked his head to the side just slightly, as if contemplating the worth of repeating his words. He must have decided that it was worth the effort. "Rodney's going to be okay. Morrison did a good job. He says McKay will keep his leg and won't get shipped back to Earth." Sheppard looked over his shoulder to the bed on the far edge of the room.

McKay had 'turned the corner'. The infirmary staff no longer watched over him 24/7. They were easing back on his medications, enticing his return to the conscious world. His leg was kept immobilized. The blood loss would keep him weak, hopefully the fear of nearly losing his life and his leg would keep him still possibly quiet.

Sheppard couldn't imagine McKay keeping quiet or still or even being truly weak.

Carson rolled his head and followed the gaze the best he could. He had trouble focusing on the distant bed. He could just make out a lump and a collection of IVs and monitors.

Rodney was tough bugger. Tougher than most people gave him credit for. Tougher than he gave himself credit for.

Sheppard turned his attention back to Beckett. Small abrasions and bruises marred his face and forehead. The man had struggled, fought hard. Carson's hair was darker than usual, stiff with oil, sweat and remnants of dirty salt water from days earlier. The nurses had cleaned him up the best they could. It was unnerving to watch them wash him down, one malleable limb at a time.

Carson lethargically rolled his head, pulling slightly on his hair that was trapped between scalp and pillowcase. He stared blurry eyed at the Colonel. He found himself blinking and having a difficult time re-opening his eyes.

The colonel squeezed his forearm again. It hurt.

"You've got Teyla's cold," Sheppard intoned. "You're over the worst of it." The colonel stared at him, as if measuring his lucidity.

It unnerved Beckett. He felt his heart race. He heard an increase in rapid beeping somewhere nearby but was unable to put two and two together.

Sheppard lifted his eyes to stare at something above Beckett's head. He then looked back down at Carson, trying to soften his expression. "Hypothermia complicated the cold she gave you."

The colonel refused to mention the drowning.

He refused to reveal the horror they all felt when water boiled from the freshly cut hole they had carved into chamber Beckett had been trapped. Water had bulged from the opening. It swelled from the lower chamber, up onto the floor at their feet. He would not bring up the crushing weight of loss that enveloped him and the others when they discovered the doctor floating lifelessly, buffeted by gentle currents, in dank frigid waters. Sheppard would make no mention of how Ronon bellowed in rage and jumped heedlessly through the hole and disappeared, reappearing only moments later, hauling Beckett's bent form to the surface. Sheppard wouldn't articulate the fear they all felt when greedy arms and hands lurched into the dark waters, grabbing desperately for any type of purchase on the body that was now held within reach. He wouldn't mention the crushing sense of loss when they hauled Beckett's limp form through the hole in the cavern roof to the floor of the chamber just above. Nor would he try and describe that numbing pain of watching Teyla drop to her knees and immediately start one man CPR as he, himself, issued urgent orders for a medical team over and over and over again.

He didn't remember giving Ronon a hand from the chamber of water.

He did recall the snap of one of Carson's ribs as Teyla rhythmically depressed his chest with her braced palms, in hopes of beating stagnant blood through vessels.

Sheppard could still feel the cold clamminess of Beckett's grayish, blue tinged skin when they had rolled him onto his side as his body rejected the water that had been swallowed. He could still feel the damp coldness of Beckett's discolored skin when helping Teyla tilt his head back, straightening his airway as she once again had to perform rescue breathing when his lungs had faltered a second and third time. His heart, however, maintained a fragile unsteady beat.

Sheppard had held Beckett's head straight. The doctor's hair, scalp and ears had been ice cold. His lips and eyelids blue. His arms and hands had lain limp at his side, his soaked uniformed legs akimbo. A white sock hung from one foot, the other was bare, the nails a deep blue. He had been lifelessly cold.

Cold like a corpse.

Relief had not been forth coming even when Morrison reappeared, bursting onto the scene with an emergency team and took over. There had been no relief for almost twenty four hours.

Drowning victims could and often did fail even after resuscitation.

Sheppard wouldn't mention any of it. Beckett didn't need to hear it and they didn't need to relive it.

"Snapped one of your ribs."

Carson merely blinked as Sheppard told him about Rodney, but he lagged slightly in comprehension.

"You saved Rodney's life." Sheppard looked away, up at the ceiling, blinking a few times. He took a breath, rubbed at his chin and then stared back down at Carson.

Beckett recognized anger when he saw it.

Fear tightened his chest. His ribs ached. A monitor beeped wildly.

Sheppard swallowed again, bobbing his adam's apple. He ground his teeth and spoke clearly, slowly and with a bite, "Don't ever do that again. Trading one life for another is not a price he'd want to live with." The colonel jerked his head in the direction of Rodney. "None of us would. Remember that." Sheppard swallowed, narrowed his gaze and squeezed Beckett's forearm one more time and whispered. "But, thanks." He paused again before gently shaking his head and quietly adding, "Just---just don't do it again."

He stared at Beckett a moment longer and then released the doctor's forearm, turned on his heel and strode away.

Beckett didn't have the strength to rotate his head to follow the Colonel's withdrawal but he listened to the boot heals retreat down the dimly lit aisle and then stop. There was no swooshing of opening or closing doors.

Sheppard had stopped at Rodney's bed.

The Colonel was right it was not a price any of them wanted to pay. Carson stared up at the ceiling, fighting the roll of his eyes. It might not be a price they wanted to pay, but how could he do any less?

He wouldn't do any less.

Beckett let his eyes drift close as a brighter thought settled and took hold. He had Teyla's cold. A smile dimpled his face, splitting the dry skin of chapped lips. He had Teyla's cold, not Ronon's or anyone else's. Teyla paid attention to CPR class. She was an excellent student.

He touched the tip of his tongue gently to his dry bottom lip trying, unsuccessfully, to draw up the memory.

Aye, he could pay that price, again….and again…and again.

The end.


End file.
